TWISTED
by tomhardyland
Summary: A Lucious Lyon/OC story. Mostly Lucious-centric without actually being from his POV. Deals with a new female artist at Empire who tries to cope with the moral dilemma of being attracted to her frankly quite repulsive CEO. Not repulsive physically though – and that's the downside.
A Lucious Lyon/OC story. Mostly Lucious-centric without actually being from his POV. Deals with a new female artist at Empire who tries to cope with the moral dilemma of being attracted to her frankly quite repulsive CEO. Not repulsive physically though – and that's the downside.

[Takes place in the current Season 2 era however not many retellings of the series will occur. This is from the OC's POV and concerns only her relations to Lucious. Take with a pinch of salt. It delves deep into two characters (one made up and the other very real) rather than dealing with drama. And lol Lucious is a total dick so be prepared to hate his ass yet again – but I'm a sucker for complex bad boys so here we go….]

" _I'm coming home  
I'm coming home  
tell the world I'm coming home  
let the rain wash away  
all the pain of yesterday  
I know my kingdom awaits  
and they've forgiven my mistakes  
I'm coming home  
I'm coming home  
tell the world I'm coming..."_

"Cut, cut, cut! Damn, girl you're going home, not being carted off to jail! Put some darn soul into it!"

I paused as the producer stopped me for the tenth time. These cuts, this screaming – it was all getting to me. I preferred the first take – every take afterwards had been awful. But the producer was anal retentive – even over a simple song cover like this.

"Can I take a break?" I ventured hopefully.

"No! again!"

I had none of the diva attitude that established singers got away with having. I could only bow down to the producer's wishes. I knew Empire needed me. I knew I was their latest little distraction technique. The blanket of snow over whatever dirty mess the Lyons had underneath. I could have tried to get away with a little bit of a diva attitude.

But I didn't dare.

I had seen Lucious Lyon on the first day here. He'd sat in on my recording and had stared at me with a blank fixedness in his eyes. I had been under pressure and I worked best under pressure. And nothing was more stressful than those freshly green, hazel eyes glaring at me.

He'd seemed happy with the recording. I don't know. I wasn't sure.

He handed the session over to his son Jamal before leaving.

Jamal was a sweetheart.

I loved him from the day I met him. He had the kindest smile, those dimples appearing often enough to inject me with the self confidence I sorely needed. He understood my hesitation and my worries about being the superstar his father wanted me to be. He himself had been in my position.

"It's a lot of responsibility – feels like there are stone weights on your shoulders," he told me.

"Hell yeah," I agreed, rolling my eyes as I fell back against the sofa.

 _I wish he was here today._

 _Instead of this ratchet ass producer._

 _Even Cookie's nicer than this one._

After about the millionth cut, the producer finally told me to get the fuck out and I couldn't comply with his request more quickly. I rushed out, my trainers skidding on the polished floor. I breathed the air outside in the corridor and brushed my fingers through my hair as I did. The elevator was travelling upwards when I jabbed the button and it came to a halt at my floor.

I was about to go in but stopped mid track when I saw who was already inside.

 _Oh fuck, it's him._

 _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck._

Like the aloof, cold CEO he was, he glanced at me once with those green eyes and then away. As if I were an unimportant part of the interior design. I walked inside, knowing it was too late to back out.

The doors slid close and –

 _Silence._

 _4…_

 _5….._

 _6…._

 _Doesn't this thing move any faster?!_

I gasped and almost fell against the wall as the elevator juddered and came to a halt. Mr Lyon's face lost its composure and broke down into a brief snarl of impatience.

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered, pulling out his phone and holding it up as the emergency lighting came on in the elevator.

I pulled my own out too but –

 _No data._

Of all the stupidest, most insane and most unwanted situations, one of them definitely had to be getting stuck in an elevator.

After hearing a few of Mr Lyon's choicest cuss words that made him sound like a true 90s OG, silence fell as he gave up and stood back against the wall. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his Armani suit and he had a sheer expression of disgruntled grumpiness on his face.

I almost quailed under his glare even though he obviously didn't mean to look so nasty. I suppose he was just one of those people with the resting bitch face. It was scary as hell.

"They'll have it fixed in a minute." 

I glanced up when he spoke out of the blue. The resting bitch face was gone. He just seemed dryly amused now. I nodded non commit tally, hoping I seemed as nonchalant as I tried to show. It only served to make Mr Lyon's upper lip curl a little further.

 _He really does seem nasty. But god ,that smirk looks good on him._

"Apparently you keep flopping on all your recent recordings. Is it that time of the month or something?"

 _Ew, motherfucker, please._

I bit the inside of my cheek for a moment, to keep from snapping at him.

"I'm trying. Things just don't seem to go right in the studio these days. But it's just a bad spell. It'll pass," I said.

"Bad spells are for weather. This won't pass – not unless you force it to get the fuck out of your way," Mr Lyon said sharply.

 _Why is he getting mad at me for? Shouldn't he have more things to worry about? It's not like there aren't other options beside me? Hakeem's little girl group for instance._

"I'll try, sir," I said simply.

He snorted. "Sir? Girl, don't make me feel like some sort of grandpa."

"Mr Lyon, then?" I retorted.

He rolled his eyes and said nothing, turning to face the elevator doors as the metal box started whirring again. And just like that, he seemed to have forgotten I even existed there beside him. I couldn't help questioning myself.

 _He's a womaniser, isn't he?_

 _He's famous for sleeping with women – a different every one night – even orgies at times._

 _Am I not pretty enough? I didn't look half bad when they made me up for the photoshoot. Or maybe I'm too young? How old is he anyway? He must be old if he has three grown up sons. Why does he look so hot though –_

 _Wait, ew, did I just call him hot?_

The thoughts rushed through my head like quicksilver.

The doors opened and Mr Lyon took a step out of the elevator, already forgetting our little exchange.

 _Not quite._

He turned before he walked off with the entourage of assistants who had been waiting outside for him. He lifted an index finger and then crooked it at me with a little smirk.

"I have some free time on my hands later this evening. Get in that studio at 8. I'll be there. We'll see if we can make that dry spell of yours pass. Or wait – sorry – _bad spell._ "

I knew the wording mistake had been on purpose. The sniggers of his assistant told me as much. It certainly made my throat dry up. If I couldn't work with that bitch ass producer back there, I most certainly couldn't work with Mr Lyon in the room.

 _Alone._

I think. Hopefully not.

The elevator doors closed, blocking out the view of his retreating back.

And I was left to stew in my own anxiety as I awaited what the evening had in store for me.


End file.
